Might as Well Jump

It's almost June. The cottonwood is blowing everywhere, the poison ivy has surged to life, the oak trees have vomited their catkins all over the yard, and the darkness has lifted. Daylight lasts until 9 p.m. 

Another school year is almost over, and another summer has arrived, a chance to regroup and finally clean the house and plant flowers and read a book...a chance to breathe. 

 I've thought a lot this year about taking the big risks, about daring to jump even when you can't see the ground. 

 I jumped out of an airplane once, expecting it to be exhilarating, but finding it nauseating and terrifying, ultimately disappointed in myself for being the coward I secretly feared I was. 

 I jumped into a relationship once, hoping I'd finally find myself and I'd finally be seen, and instead finding that I didn't like what I saw when I looked in the mirror, a person still desperate for affirmation instead of a person strong with self-worth. 

 I jumped into a new sport once, hoping to build new muscles and find new balance and grace, and learning within months that I was not graceful on skates or on crutches; middle-aged me was just as awkward and ungraceful as middle-school me, and didn't bounce nearly as well.

 I jumped into a new job this year, a huge pay cut and financial risk, a risk in stability from the tippy top of the seniority list to the very very bottom, untenured, with a mentor teacher that had almost been my student teacher decades earlier. A strange situation, being brand new, but almost experienced enough to retire. 

 I couldn't see the ground when I made this job jump, but I trusted my gut and I trusted my village and I trusted in myself that I would be able to make this work and find a place where I belonged. 

Photo by Adrian Moise on Unsplash

 And now, it's almost June. 10 months have passed, and I can see the ground. It is blooming with flowers; the fiddle head ferns are unfurling, reaching to the sky; the Canadian geese are proudly and loundly parading their goslings into yards and driveways and on to decks and docks; it's time to plant the garden; it's time to relearn how to run. 

 Maybe Van Halen really did say it best. Maybe if your back is up against the wall, you might as well jump. 

 At the very worst, you might learn something about yourself, something you needed to recognize, so that you could grow and become a better you. 

But there is also a damn good chance that if you jump, you might find your people and you might see the ground and it might be full of possibilities and promise. 

 If you are brave enough to jump, you might not always get what you want, but you just might find you get what you need.